


downpour

by kittenscully



Series: fictober 2020 [13]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Post-Movie: The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008), Romance, Smut, The Unremarkable House (X-Files), porch sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully
Summary: Like a creek in a drought, wallowing mindlessly down to nothing, she did not know how starved she was for his attention until it returned.[fictober day 13]
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: fictober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949467
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	downpour

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Do we have to?"

Ozone and fog in the air, late afternoon turned dark blue with imminent rain. Sky and land and the space between them, all heavy with desire, with the waiting. 

In their field, Mulder, watching the oncoming clouds, arms loose at his sides. On their covered porch, Scully, watching Mulder, arms tight around her body. 

The cycle of day to night is obscured, and it could be any time between two and six. But spring, always spring, chill seeped out of the air by the changing seasons, changing connections. Rekindled warmth, rekindled emotion, the growing heat that rolls in her gut as she stares at him. 

When he turns, gaze falling on her from afar, he is as wildly beautiful as the gathering storm, and Scully feels herself opening in anticipation. Expectant and crumbling, dry earth aching for the rain. 

There were so many months where she looked at him with nothing but fondness and worry. So many months where he gave her nothing but silence and a modicum of comfort. And now, to have this again, this gravitational pull, this insistent, thrumming need, crackling static on her skin. 

Under his gaze, she unfurls. 

As the first big droplets start to fall, Mulder starts to walk, and then to run. Long strides eating up the grass, an intensity near mania in his eyes. 

By the time he reaches her, heaving and darkened with moisture, the feeling of absence between her legs is dizzying. She reaches up for him, breaks trails of water on his cheeks with her thumbs. 

“It’s gonna be a big one,” he huffs, palming her waist with one hand, drawing her in to crush against him. 

The collision of their bodies ripples through her spine, stokes the arousal in her belly, dry tinder to dampen or set alight. He bends to kiss her, other hand seizing a fistful of her long hair, and her lungs are full like drowning. Behind him, the drizzle grows heavier.

“We should go inside,” he says.

There’s that light, that wanting in his eyes, finally familiar again. Like a creek in a drought, wallowing mindlessly down to nothing, she did not know how starved she was for his attention until it returned. 

She thinks of monsoon season, of the reckless swelling of lakes and rivers, eating up the earth around them. Of the way she would let him turn her monstrous, the way she wants to absorb him whole into her body. Of the way that she would watch the world collapse at his side. 

Of the sublime, the sexual pull of destruction. 

“Do we have to?” Scully breathes. 

Their eyes meet, and for a single, stunning moment, there is only one mind between the two of them. 

As he spins them and walks her towards the edge of the porch, she pulls him down and kisses him again, tongue pushing into his mouth. There’s a flash and a clap of thunder, and then there are hands scrambling at clothes, her breasts made bare, nipples coated with mist and slippery under his fingers.

Lifted onto the railing, now, she hooks her ankles around his hips, pulls the bulk of him between her thighs. She can’t remember which of them had rid her of her pants, and with his mouth wet and biting at her neck, she is only barely aware of her own hands working at the fly of his jeans. 

The downpour is deafening above them, percussive on the roof of the porch. When she fishes him out, hot and rigid in her palm, Mulder muffles a groan in the hollow of her throat, reaches for the hem of her panties.

“Now,” she gasps, reaches to shove them to the side instead. “No time.”

And then he’s finally pushing into her, and she is overflowing. He kisses as if he means to devour her, palms her lower back with the possessive certainty that she’s never ceased to crave. Holding her up, holding her open, holding her in place to take the onslaught, the deep, steady thrusts. 

Him in front of her, filling up the absence inside. The storm behind, above, surrounding them on all sides, filling up her ears. 

As he takes her, Scully clings to his shoulders, lets her head loll back on her own. 

There, at the edge of the roof, the edge of her field of vision, rivulets of water coursing down in a rhythmic curtain. Here, between the heaving slopes of their bodies, the scent of ozone and rain mixing with the heady scent of arousal. 

Mulder gathers her to his chest, covers her mouth with his, and she loses all sense of where he ends and she begins. 

She feels the swell of her climax building at the root of her spine, and imagines that it will burst from her like a waterfall, shatter the dam they’ve built in a crash of waves and splintered wood. Nothing more to hold them back, to hold them separate. The levees capsized in the storm, the barricades split with lightning. 

He is her land, her territory, and she will leave him consumed with the flood he’s made of her.


End file.
